


i'm falling for your eyes (but they don't know me yet)

by figure8



Series: Skin [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>me: THE ENTIRE MCKIRK TAG IS STRIPPER!BONES I AM GOING TO DIE<br/>melodie: but stripper!jim, leni<br/>me: oh<br/>me: o h<br/>me: i'm gonna do the thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm falling for your eyes (but they don't know me yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drkhal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drkhal/gifts).



> i'm really really sorry 
> 
> the title is so cheesy oh my god i cry tears of blood who am i 
> 
> pls don't take this fic seriously 
> 
> first posted only to tumblr, but now i'm fairly sure this is becoming a series, soooo. thanks to my darling megan for the beta! all remaining mistakes are my own, please don't shoot the non native speaker, etc, xoxo

There is something inherently erotic to the act of undressing. Leonard knows that, he has experienced it. He was  _married_ , for God’s sake. It’s all about the expectation, the anticipation; slowly revealed skin waiting to be touched. Undressing a lover is like unwrapping a present.

Stripping has never done the trick for him, though. It just… doesn’t work. It’s not exciting. Leo can recognize some people are hot all right, and yeah, getting to see hot people naked is never unpleasant, but that’s where it ends for him. Leo needs a connection, whatever. He’s aware it makes him sound like a huge sap, but he just really needs to feel it’s real. Even with a one-night stand, there’s a basic connection, an acknowledgment that both parties share a common desire. Stripping just feels fake and cheap to Leo, leaving him more grossed out than aroused.

He doesn’t know why he agreed to coming along tonight. Christine was really insistent, chastised him with a somber “you never go out” and he felt cornered, like he didn’t really have a choice. Maybe deep down he was waiting for an opportunity to get away from work, as well.

Christine is getting married soon, and even if she made it clear really early that she didn’t want a true bachelorette party, she still wouldn’t miss her last opportunity to party as a free woman. As it’s informal, she invited most of her guy friends to tag along. Leo suspects this is actually the reason Christine didn’t want the real thing to begin with: most of her acquaintances are men. At the clinic they both work in, she never really hit it off with the other nurses, takes her lunch with Leo and a bunch of other doctors.

"This is ridiculous," Leo shouts in her direction, hoping she can somehow hear him over the loud music. She turns to him, smiling big, throws an arm around his shoulder.

"Shut up, you love it!" she laughs into his ear.

For a split second, Leo feels the sharpness of fear in the pit of his stomach, almost turns around to verify that nobody heard her. He realizes right after that she didn’t mean what he was afraid she meant.

Nobody knows Leo’s gay. If anyone ever had a slight suspicion, Leo always made sure to wear his wedding ring, talk about his ex-wife and his kid often enough to push it away. He’s aware this makes him a coward, and he doesn’t care. San Francisco is an open-minded place all right, but Leo’s from Georgia. Some nasty habits never change. Some dreads never quite leave you. Instead, they force you to tie yourself to a woman you respect but don’t love, and then drive you out of the state and make you leave your five-year-old daughter behind. Leo isn’t ready to be himself just yet.

“ _Leo_ ,” Christine slurs drunkenly against his cheek, “stop thinking so much and enjoy the damn show.”

“I’m not thinking. I couldn’t think if I tried. That thing they call music is too goddamn loud.”

“I can  _hear you thinking_  over it,” Christine scolds him. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“I can’t, I have to drive,” Leo tries in a frantic and desperate attempt to escape.

“You’re not driving, Leonard, and you know I hate it when you lie to me. Are you allergic to fun?”

“I’m allergic to  _you_. Please don’t buy me a pink drink.”

Christine arches an eyebrow. He can feel her judging him, it’s radiating all over the place. “You lie to me, you get a Cosmopolitan. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.” And then she disappears, making her way through the crowd to access the bar. Left alone and not wanting to go back to the others, Leo has no other choice but to turn his attention to the stage.

He’s not sure exactly of what the purpose of the club they’re at is, because he’s fairly certain it’s not  _officially_  a gay bar, but there are male and female strippers here. Right now, a twenty-something girl is finishing her performance, moving lasciviously around the pole, her tanned skin almost glowing under the purple lights. She’s beautiful, all lean curves and sexy smiles. Leo wishes he could want her. He used to  _pray_  he could want girls like her. It never worked, and Leo doesn’t pray anymore.

The lights go off for a moment, allowing the girl to leave the scene, and when they turn back on (a yellowish glow, this time), there’s a man on the stage, back turned to the room. He’s wearing leather pants (of fucking  _course_ ), a fedora, and a simple white tee, as far as Leo can see. If the amount of cheering is anything to go by, he’s a crowd favorite. The whistling dies soon enough though, as soon as the music really starts. It’s an electronic beat, soft but rhythmic, slowly building up.

The guy turns around.

Leo feels like the air has just been punched out of his lungs. He’s close enough that he can see the man’s eyes, steel blue, surreal. He’s gorgeous, but Leo has seen his fair share of gorgeous men before; that’s not what has him almost reaching out, wanting to touch so _badly_. It’s the eyes.

His gaze meets Leo’s, and their eyes lock for a millisecond, but it’s enough.  _A connection_.

In a swift and confident motion, the stripper flips off his hat, leaves it lying on the floor. He then begins gyrating around the pole, very simply at first, just his hips swaying and his left arm extended against the metal bar, lifting himself up from time to time, his bicep tensing visibly. What Leo took for a t-shirt is actually a button-down, three buttons already undone. The man slowly works his way through the rest, a teasing smirk blossoming on his face when he reaches the last one. The shirt falls to the floor with a soft sound, and suddenly Leo’s throat feels very dry. The stripper’s chest is toned, as if sculpted in stone, as cliché as it may sound. How long has it been since Leo last got laid? Under the artificial spotlight, the guy’s blond hair looks golden. The guy playing around with the lights is a goddamn genius, a truly wasted talent for working at a strip club: suddenly the stage seems bathed in starlight, a myriad of bright white dots dancing around. In the middle, back slightly arched against the pole, the stripper is toying with the buckle of his belt. His movements are purposefully lazy, artfully sloppy. He finally— _finally_ —unties it, but doesn’t take his pants off. He lowers the zipper tantalizingly slowly, his gaze fixed on Leo again. His eyes are  _so fucking blue_. Leo swallows hard, tries to look away. He can’t. He wants to watch. He hasn’t allowed himself to  _want to watch_ , to want  _period_ , for such a long time.

 _I can hear your heartbeat_ , the song says. Leo is practically certain the entire bar can hear his.

On stage, the man has gotten rid of his pants, and is now—

He’s touching himself. Sliding a thumb along the outline of his cock through the black fabric of his underwear, nipples hardening, and he is  _still watching Leo_.

This is ridiculous. Leo is—

Leo is hard. Not fully, not yet, but really really close. He can feel his arousal building up, hot and heavy, and he almost unconsciously brings a hand down to palm himself through his jeans. God, it’s been a  _fucking long time._

The man isn’t looking at him anymore, but that’s actually  _better_ , because he has his head thrown back, pale throat exposed. Leo imagines himself biting on it, mouthing at the stripper’s stubbled jaw. If he were on that stage, he’d have made this infuriating pair of briefs disappear  _ages_  ago, he’d be on his knees and—

“Leonard, crap, I’m so sorry!”

Christine’s voice snaps him out of his fantasy instantaneously, more effective than a cold shower. True to her word, she has a Cosmo in her hand.

“What took you so long?” Leo grits between clenched teeth, not exactly sure of why he’s feeling so pissed off. Is it because she left him alone and allowed this to happen? Is it because she  _interrupted_?

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, “I got hit on, and I had to explain I’m getting hitched in like a week, and Leo—fuck—I—I’m getting married.”

She looks so lost suddenly. Whatever annoyance he felt a second ago evaporates. “Darling, trust me, I know.”

“Leo, I’m  _getting married_.”

He quirks up an eyebrow. “Chris, are you okay?”

“I may have freaked-out in the restrooms. I think I’m fine now. I’m really drunk,” she points out uselessly. She hands him the drink. It looks suspiciously fuchsia. “Here, you have to drink it or I will.”

When she smiles, her platinum hair in a messy bun and her face so soft, she looks like a teenager. Leo feels a wave of affection crash over him and takes the glass from her clutching fingers before pulling her into a hug. He realizes a second too late it’s the worst idea he’s ever had, because the… situation in his pants is still very much a situation, but she’s apparently too intoxicated or polite to notice.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice muffled against her hair.

“I know,” she grins sheepishly, taking a step back. “Hey, let’s get out of here.”

“You have guests,” Leo remarks.

“I don’t care, we’ll be back, I just need some fresh air.”

Leo gives one last look to the stage, but his stripper is nowhere to be seen. His show ended while Leo was talking to Christine. Sighing, he shrugs and follows her to the exit.

The soft breeze outside is more than welcome after the overcrowded club. Leo closes his eyes furtively as Christine gets her cigarette pack out of her purse.

“Chris, you’ve been to medical school,” he scolds her. “Why don’t you quit that shit?”

“I’m anxious and drunk, leave me alone.”

She’s fumbling with her bag, probably trying to find her lighter. After a minute of battle, she gives up, lets out a frustrated sigh and walks over to the guy who’s smoking, leaning on the brick wall.

“Hey, sorry, would you happen to have a light?”

“Yeah, sure,” the guy answers, and gets a red lighter out of his pocket.

He’s wearing jeans and a grey hoodie, but the hood slips off when he moves to give the lighter to Christine, and fuck, it’s  _the stripper_. Leo gapes at him stupidly from behind his friend, trying his hardest to somehow magically disappear, but the guy notices him right away and his face freaking  _lights up_.

“Hey,” he grins at Leo, “it’s you.”

“Him?” Christine asks. The man ignores her.

“It’s me,” Leo confirms, because he’s an adult and he’s not going to hide forever. “You kept staring at me,” he says, and it comes out a little more accusingly than what he intended.

“Because you’re hot,” the guy says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the universe.

Leo scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“You’re really hot. I don’t get that nice a view very often, you know? The ladies are nice, but I get bored easily.” He fucking  _winks_  at him. Christine’s eyes are going back and forth between him and Leo.

“Leo, I’m going back inside,” she says finally. If he had any doubts she is his best friend, they’re all gone now. He could kiss her.

“So your name’s Leo?”

“Leonard,” he corrects almost by reflex, regrets it immediately.

“I prefer Leo,” the guy says. “Suits you well, s’majestic and everything. I’m Jim,” he offers.

“Why would I care, kid?”

 _Jim_  laughs. “I’m not a kid. And your dick cares just fine.”

Leo looks down, cheeks burning from the embarrassment.

“It’s alright,” Jim says softly. “In case you couldn’t tell, my dick is kind of interested too.”

“Can you please stop talking about our penises as if they’re conscious beings?”

“Geez, man, way to break the mood.” He looks down at his crotch and whispers exaggeratingly. “It’s alright baby, the old man doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Are you  _talking to it_?” Leo chokes.

“Well, I’d rather be talking to you, but I’ll take what I can get.”

And then he’s staring at him again, with this cerulean gaze Leo just can’t seem to escape.  

“I have to go back,” Jim sighs, disappointed. “Hey, gimme your hand.”

“You’re not writing your number on my arm.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “I’m  _not_  writing my number on your arm. Promise.”

Doubtful, Leo extends his hand. Jim takes it, and their fingers brush, and it really shouldn’t feel this way because a) Leo left high school a few centuries ago and b) the guy is plainly  _ridiculous_. It does, though. Taking a sharpie out of his pocket, Jim starts scribbling on his palm.

“See you,” he whispers then, and lets go of Leo’s hand before getting back into the building.

_Friday, 11pm. Watch me._

Leo smiles to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> i post shit and stuff on [tumblr](http://haleinski.co.vu) if you're interested uhm


End file.
